phonebooth
by alivingfantasy
Summary: "She didn't want the lies anymore. She wanted him." Haleb, post 3x04. Oneshot.


**-phonebooth-**

_Haleb post-3x04_

_-:-_

**A/N: So this is my first attempt at a Haleb fic, so I'm sorry if it's terrible and really ooc; I just wanted to get something down, because I love them and hate the current situation with them on the show. Fingers crossed they'll work things out in upcoming episodes, though.**

**Hope you enjoy and leave me a review...**

**xo, ~Ana**

_-:-_

The rain fell mercilessly from the gray sky, the gloominess and self-loathing perfectly echoing Hanna Marin's mood.

She had no idea how long she'd been walking around town in an aimless, heartbroken daze. All she knew was that she was wet, she was tired, and that she missed him. Him, whose name she couldn't bear to think without a fresh torrent of tears tumbling down her salt-stained, pale cheeks, leaving behind red-rimmed baby blue eyes and smeared "waterproof" mascara.

It had been three days since Caleb had called it quits and left her. Three days of crying, three days of sweats, three days of Chunky Monkey by the pint, three days of sob sessions over _The Notebook,_ three days of him ignoring her calls and texts. He'd even un-friended her on Facebook, the ultimate mark of dismissal. The funny thing-funny ironic, not funny ha-ha-was that she didn't know who to hate more, "A" or herself. As much as she wanted to blame the split on the body-snatching bitch, she knew it was her own fault, too. Her fault for lying.

The goddamn lies. They were what always ruined her.

_"The truth is like spaghetti...Have you ever untangled spahetti?"_

When she'd spit out the ridiculous metaphor at him when he caught her at Radley, she hadn't even realized how true her own words were. It was so, so hard to figure out the truth about anything. Whenever she and her friends extracted one strand, they ran into a new knot. She didn't know who or what to believe anymore.

_"You think the truth is one big shiny disco ball of purity, you see how it works out for you. Trust me, you're always better off with a really good lie."_

Alison was the one who had taught her to lie. Taught her to bend and change and fabricate reality.

In reality, the Hanna of the past was shy, meek, and worried about her appearance to others. She was chubby and insecure, with a messy home life and a messier secret. She was a nobody, never worth a second glance.

After meeting Ali, she became bold. Daring. Confident. Stylish, popular, and beautiful, a girl worth talking to. A girl with a breezy attitude and cool demeanor who could out-snark anyone.

Eerily, the Hanna of the present wasn't too different.

_"Everybody's lying to us, we're lying to everybody. No mas." _

She didn't want the lies anymore.

She didn't want the secrets and the tragedies and the horror. She didn't want tears and rejection and nightmares and drama and pain.

She wanted happiness. She wanted normalcy.

She wanted him. Caleb.

Suddenly, she couldn't take it anymore and the translucent orbs began falling down her cheeks, mingling with the rainwater until she couldn't tell the difference. A chill went down her spine and goosebumps rose on her skin.

She had to get out of this damn rain.

Home wasn't an option. Her mother was working late and she didn't want to sit in her silent, dark house alone watching _Gossip Girl _reruns and, inevitably, gorging on bowls of popcorn and ice cream and Cheese-Its and other calorie-infested crap. Emily was out to dinner with her mom, making stopping by the Feildses' a non-option, and Aria was with Mr. Fitz. She had no idea where Spencer was. Reaching into the pocket of her Juicy sweatpeants for her phone to shoot the brunette a text, she sighed as she came up empty. Of course. Her phone was at home. In any case, Hanna imagined her curled up, cozy and dry, with Toby at his loft. A stab of envy went through her, quickly replaced by remorse.

Only three days ago, she and Caleb could've been doing the same.

_You blew it,_ she thought, suddenly furious at herself. _You freaking blew it. Why couldn't you just tell him the damn truth?_

But was it really that easy? That easy to come clean; that easy to reveal the deepest, darkest things in her life?

She angrily kicked a pebble with her Yves St. Laurent rainboot, creating a scuff on the toe. _Perfect. Just one more thing you've ruined._

She spotted an old phonebooth on the street corner, lit by the dull glow of the streetlamp. Normally, she considered it a waste of space-hello, cell phones, people!-but at that moment, she was beyond glad for it. Quickly, she raced across the slippery, sleek pavement, yanking open the door to the booth and sliding in. The cozy warmth was inviting, and as she shook the rainwater from her clothes and now-frizzy blonde curlicules, she wondered if it was possible to stay in a phonebooth forever, as an escape from the struggles and perils of her everyday life. Glancing out of the tiny window just above her head, she watched the rain beat down on Rosewood, splashing into puddles and dampening the streets. Rain made everything look so magical, she thought. Things that usually seemed so ordinary, like a pebble or leaf, seemed so much more than that in the pulsing, mysterious glow of the rain. Hanna wasn't a sappy poetic person (normally she saw rain as a chance to whip out her Diane Von Furstenberg raincoat and Burberry boots) but even she recognized rain as a chance for renewal. For starting over.

But right then, it seemed like an omen. Like nothing would ever be the same again, ever.

She swallowed, wiping a stray tear away in impatience, then looked down at the battered payphone hooked unassumingly on the wall. _Could she? Should she? _It would only bring her more pain to hear his voice, to dwell on what could have been; but it also might ease the pain. Might remind her why "A" needed to go down. Might offer her a clean break. Closure.

_Crap, Hanna, you're starting to sound like Dr. Sullivan._

Suddenly, before she could rethink anything, her hand shot out and grabbed the phone, trembling as she inserted a quarter-she always carried around change; her mom had drilled it into her head when she was eight years old-into the tiny slot. Gulping, her manicured nails danced across the keypad on the wall next to the phone, typing in the string of numbers she knew almost as well as her own.

One ring. Two. Three.

God, he wasn't going to answer. _Well, it _is _the middle of the night, _she reasoned. _Or maybe his phone's off._

Five rings. Six. Sev-

"Hello?"

For a second, she forgot how to breathe. It was him. His voice, that deep baritone which she thought she would never hear again. She managed to compose herself long enough to croak out, "Caleb?"

"Hanna? Is that you?"

"Yeah," she admitted, heaving a breath, "It's me."

There was silence for a second. "Why are you calling?" He sounded so...indifferent. Passive, almost.

She bit her nude bottom lip. Why was she calling? "I just...I had to-"

"Spew more lies?" he supplied, his tone mocking. "Make more promises you can't keep? I'm sorry Hanna, but I don't want to hear it."

"No," she whimpered, stung by his hostility. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. I-I've been calling you. You stopped picking up your phone."

"There's not much left to say."

Her hand cradled the phone closer to her ear. "There is. Caleb, there's-there's _so_ much left unsaid."

"We should probably keep it that way." He was quiet, and she choked back a sob. "Hanna, I...I can't do this, alright? If I stay on this phone with you, I'm going to rethink every damn thing I've done over the past three days of my life, okay?"

Hanna nodded, although she knew he couldn't see her. "I get it. I just...needed you to know that I'm sorry. For everything. And I hope that you don't-" she bit back a whimper-"don't hate me."

"Hanna," he murmured, suddenly gentle. "I could never hate you, even if I tried. And believe me, I've tried."

In spite of herself, a small smile curled on the corners of her mouth. It hurt to smile, like stretching a muscle that had remained unused for far too long. "So have I," she joked weakly.

There was a pause, and Hanna suddenly remembered what he'd said to her that night, the night when he'd returned to Rosewood: _Most of my life, I have felt alone. Even when I was with people. That is, until I met you._

Ironic, now that he was gone and she was left alone and broken.

"So...this is goodbye?" it came out asa question.

_No. I can't say goodbye to you._ "Yes," she exhaled tightly. "Goodbye, Caleb."

"Goodbye, Hanna."

Then there was a click, and he was gone, and the heartbroken blonde sagged against the wall, too numb to cry, as much as she wanted to. Quietly, she stepped out of the phonebooth, looking up at the gloomy, threatening sky, and felt an epiphanic flash of hope.

Maybe there was still a chance for her and Caleb, just as there was sunshine after every rainstorm.

She smiled slightly, and imagined him smiling back.

She and Caleb were both together, under the same dreary sky, but she was determined to be with him again, when their skies were a brilliant blue. When the lies and secrets and drama and tragedy couldn't touch them. When they could love again.

After all, she was Hanna Marin, and she was _not_ giving up.

Not without a fight.

_I'm going to find whoever did this to us, Caleb. And I'm going to make them pay._

And this, for once, was the absolute truth.

_FIN._


End file.
